Off The Mark
by Collie Parkillo
Summary: He's a scrawny little eighth grader with a mind more manipulative than his face could ever betray, looking for protection from the constant pushing and shoving. What Archie Costello didn't expect was for the need for companionship to be mutual. Pre-Chocolate War, possible Archie/Obie.
1. Chapter 1

**disclaimer: the chocolate war is not mine**

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He was surprisingly small for an eighth grader.

His clothes fit badly, often expensive, foreign things bought by his father for a son that he had dreamed would be much larger than Archie had turned out to be. You're a Costello, he'd kept saying. You've got to hit that growth spurt sometime.

But 'that growth spurt' didn't seem to have ever happened. Archie wasn't an idiot, he knew that he was only fourteen and there was a long, sprawling period of time in front of him. But fourteen seemed to be permanent. Fourteen, fifteen, sixteen...they would all be the same.

At least that was what he thought as he was shoved against a locker by a tall boy in a sports jersey. This boy seemed to be under the impression that he was much taller than he really was, when in reality he wasn't too much larger than Archie by comparison.

Archie brushed himself off and strode over to the other boy brusquely. "What was that for?"

"Get lost, lame-ass," the boy said. This pathetic sort of insulting was common among people in his age group, Archie had noted. Throw in a few swears and a snarky tone, and you were set for life in the hallways of the Monument middle school.

Archie folded his arms and stared at the lettering on the back of his jersey, trying to think of a suitable name to call him, and only came up with the name on his jersey. "Be careful what you say, Anthony."

"That's not my name," he said.

"It's as much your name as mine is lame-ass."

"Fine, Costello. Whatever you say."

"Still not my name," Archie teased.

_"Archie."_

Archie smiled in satisfaction. "There. That's it."

The boy glared at him. He wasn't too brutish looking up close, not really. His dark hair was uncombed and his face was angular and shrewd, with dark, cobalt eyes. "Obie Harrison," he said. "Not that you need to know."

"Who knows? I may need to sometime." Archie said, a slight smirk playing on his lips. That was the fun of school. Playing with people who were too dumb to realize that they were only your prey, like a rat being tossed between the paws of a bored cat. Obie wasn't _dumb,_ per se, but he was dense. Dense enough to let a bit of surprised emotion flash onto his face when Archie approached him with what could be a hint of friendship.

"Don't give me any of that crap," Obie said irritably, and started down the hallway. "I've got class in a minute."

"Say, Obie, isn't it, you've got English next, correct?" It was a wild guess, but Archie being bold enough to guess would probably scare Obie sufficiently.

"Uh..." Obie looked up at the ceiling. "Yeah. I do."

"Are you any good at English?" Archie smiled again. "Say, how would you feel about a tutor?"

"You're really pissing me off, Archie."

"That's why I'm here, my friend." The use of the word _friend_ made Obie swallow hard. He obviously thought that he was prime at hiding his own feelings. Archie bit back a small giggle. This was the fun part.

"Look, you're just some loser who hasn't got any friends, and I'm not going to be your first. Leave me alone."

"Oh, but, Obie..." He let the name roll off his tongue. "Obie, don't tell me that you don't want better grades? Higher social stature? A girlfriend, perhaps?"

"The way you say my name gives me the creeps."

"Eh?" Archie cocked his head, smiling. "Alright, then. Obie," he said, drawing out every last syllable in a falsetto tone.

"Okay, I'll take your stupid tutoring! Just leave me alone!"

Archie interlaced his fingers, his smile turning to a pleased grin. "Ah. Good. Say, Obie, have you got any friends?"

"This conversation is over, lame-ass," Obie said, and started down the hallway for real. His hurried footsteps were an obvious sign of nervousness.

"Meet me at five sharp, tonight!" Archie called after him. He started in the opposite direction, looking down at his feet.

Power was what school was really all about. Control was key, if you had at least somebody under your wing then you could easily get through school without a problem. Friendship was a lie, a façade for the idea of power and survival.

He'd listened to his father on the phone for hours at night, not sleeping but sitting outside of his office, just listening to the constant arguing and comparing of rates and bad-mouthing of customers. Insurance is serious business, Archie, he would always say, and then ruffle his son's hair.

Some nights, it was the divorce lawyer his father spoke with. His mother, with her garish sweaters and miles and miles of knitted scarves, would sit down there with him, listening to him talk. Only listening. Never taking part in ripping apart her own marital union.

If love and friendship were sacred, then Archie had never seen that side of them.

He'd had one once. Daniel, his name had been, he'd been the son of a lawyer and a small, frail woman who didn't talk much. He and Daniel had slid down the railings of his house and one day, Daniel had fallen and had something that at the time, Archie had only known as a spurt of blood spilling terrifyingly from his friend's skull, and now, Archie knew as a fracture.

Needless to say, Daniel hadn't returned to their house.

Archie sat down in class, the hard, cold plastic of the seat soaking through his oversized blazer and sending a shiver down his spine. The math room was always cold for whatever reason. Perhaps the mathematics department just didn't know how to master the oh-so-complicated heating system. (Really, Archie himself could have fixed the heating.)

As he was about to take out his notebook, someone walking past shoved his chair against his desk, causing a sharp pain in his chest and loss of breath for a moment.

He only smiled. Someday, there would be no more of this. With the discovery of Obie, he could have at least somebody to push those taller kids against the wall and tell them not to mess with him. There would be no more insults, because he'd have someone covering for him.

One might ask how he was so sure of this, how he was so sure that Obie would fall right into his hands and become what he needed to survive this last year of middle school without ending up as a story in the paper about a kid being beaten to death.

He was sure because Obie wanted it. Obie would never say it, not to anybody, but Obie wanted someone to protect, someone to think that he was the best thing in their life. And all Archie had to do was pretend, really. He'd never been a great actor, but kindness was the easiest thing to imitate, because of how false it often was.

With a bit of pretending, he'd get the Obie he wanted, his protector in the hallways who would be there whenever for whatever he needed or wanted.

And Archie Costello always, always got what he wanted.

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**wow okay um this idea was in my head for a really long time i really shouldn't start more multichapters but paper birds only has a few more chapters left and ah who cares i do what i want **


	2. Chapter 2

Archie loved it when it rained.

Not the kind that made pat-pat-pat sounds on the sidewalks and allowed small children in rainhats to bounce about in puddles, but the heavy, warm spring rain that came down in sheets and enveloped everything around it.

Everyone always seemed to be in a sort of haze that he'd never found himself affected by. That was perhaps why he liked it so much. The feeling of seeing everyone else in a state of drudgery that he didn't feel was satisfying, to say the least.

He'd never agreed on a place to meet Obie, and had decided that the best way to go was to make his way to the school office and have a look through the directory.

The office was inhabited by a short, blonde woman by the name of Mrs. Finch. She had very little personality, and as Archie judged from the book she was holding up to her face, a love of novels with overly muscular men on the covers.

"Hello, Mrs. Finch." She looked up, not giving him any sort of response. "I was wondering if I could look through the directory?"

"Why?" She seemed irritated at being interrupted from her probably very badly written and very erotic novel.

Archie flashed her his best charming smile. "Oh, I need a ride home, my father can't get here in the rain." As if to emphasize, he glanced out the window at the water pouring from the sky. "I had a friend in mind."

"Oh, alright then." Mrs. Finch put down her book momentarily. "The directory's right there, along with the phone." She seemed very eager to get back to reading, and Archie wasn't about to bother her. People like her were of no interest to him.

He flipped through the pages of the directory until he got to last names beginning with H. There were quite a few Harrisons in the school it seemed. There was a Farley Harrison, an Eden Harrison, and finally he came to Harrison, Obie.

Archie smiled down at the phone number and pressed the appropriate numbers on the office phone. He'd seen Obie walking home before, he probably didn't live too far away and was probably home by now.

There were a few minutes of the phone ringing obscenely in his ears before someone picked up. He hoped it was Obie himself and not some family member. "Who the hell is this?"

Yes, it was most definitely Obie. "Archie Costello."

"I can feel you smirking through the phone. Creepy little shit." The last part had clearly not been meant to be heard, but the static of the phone picked it up nonetheless.

"That really isn't nice," Archie said, although there was no sign that he was offended in his voice.

"Listen, I'll come to your stupid tutoring or whatever tonight. The fact that you got my phone number is weird enough."

"Meet me outside school at five, Obie. Then we'll walk back to my house." He made sure to let the name slip out of his mouth in a way that would make Obie's skin crawl. Archie knew he didn't need to worry about Mrs. Finch overhearing their conversation, she was far too wrapped up in whatever Sandra Hill had written about large shirtless men.

"Are you serious?! I'll get soaked!"

"So?" Archie said the monosyllable teasingly, as though it was some sort of threat. "Umbrellas really are marvelous things, Obie."

"Fine. Now leave me alone." Obie hung up immediately, before Archie had the chance to make another snide comment.

"Thank you, Mrs. Finch," he said, ever the picture of politeness. She didn't look up, as he'd expected, and Archie stalked out of the office, closing the door with a sharp clang. His father's slick, expensive car was waiting outside for him. It was expensive, but Archie thought that the leather stunk and it probably would barely fetch a price outside of auctions between rich company owners.

The house was as large as empty and always when he got home, and he spent the remaining hours between three and five pacing the marble floors and trying to find some sort of mathematical pattern in the tiling.

Boring. That was what it was. It was all boring. Life was dull when you knew what everyone was going to do next. And that was the thing. If he tried, he could predict exactly how Obie would react to everything he planned. And it was _boring._

And then the doorbell rang.

The stupid thing would scream if pressed too hard, and that was exactly what it was doing. Archie made his way over to the large door, hopefully before one of the butlers, and opened it.

Obie Harrison was standing on his doorstep, a large, yellow, Winnie the Pooh-esque rainhat over his dark hair and a garish-looking blue windbreaker covering him. Archie stared.

"I told you to meet me outside school, not at my house," was the best response he could come up with.

"Well, I disobeyed you," Obie said flatly.

Archie bit down on his lower lip, still in a mild state of shock. "Fine," he said, but his tone of voice implied that it was most certainly not fine.

"What? Not used to it?" Obie laughed. "You really think you're hot shit, don't you?"

Archie felt his face redden and dug his fingernails into the skin of his palm. "That, Obie, is because I am hot shit, so to speak. Now stop dripping on my father's floor."

"You're four feet tall," Obie responded, a bit of that laugh still in his voice. Archie didn't even respond to that, merely giving an exasperated snort. He wasn't four feet tall, after all. Add four inches onto that.

"Put your wet things in here." Archie pulled opened the sliding door of a room that could also probably be considered a closet. Obie shrugged off his windbreaker and took of his rainhat. "That's a particularly ugly hat you've got there." Archie was most certainly not going to let Obie get away with all the petty insults.

"What's it to you?" Obie seemed to have either ignored the school uniform or put clothes on over it, since he was wearing a hoodie that was a shade of green somewhat reminiscent of vomit. "How're you going to tutor me or whatever it is you actually want to do anyways?"

"Simple. I'll teach you how to appreciate good English and not fail out of our dear school."

Obie shook some droplets of water out of his hair and folded his arms. "Who says I'm failing?"

Archie grinned wolfishly. "I do. Oh, Obie, this year's report card really isn't looking good, is it?" It was a guess, but given the look on Obie's face, it was true.

"H-how do you know about that..."

"I know a lot of things, Obie." Archie smiled again, the biggest, flashiest one he could muster.

"You...barely speak to anybody. Like, ever. How do you..."

"I listen, Obie. It's common sense. I'm not sure if that sort of thing goes through that precious little head of yours, but really, all it comes down to is common sense." Obie continued to stare at him with a somewhat horrified expression on his face. "Stop staring at me like that. It's unattractive."

Obie muttered something profane under his breath. "Now come on, you and I have lots of things to discuss." Archie started out of the mudroom and up the long, wide stairs of the gigantic expanse he called his house, and for a moment he considered looking back to see if Obie was really following.

Needless to say, he didn't look back.

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**i think this is becoming my new favorite thing to write hello **


	3. Chapter 3

Obie was not very good at pretending that he wasn't bored out of his mind. Archie had noted that he wasn't particularly good at pretending in general. The other boy had draped himself over Archie's desk chair and was idly moving himself back and forth with one foot. Clearly _The Great Gatsby_ was not enough entertainment for him.

Archie smiled at the thought that he was getting on Obie's nerves. "So, Obie, do you understand the symbolism behind Gatsby's green light?"

Obie used his foot to propel himself into spinning around on the chair. "It represents forbidden desire, and how, uh, volatile that is."

"Yes, and compared to the mass of solid riches Gatsby acquires, it's certainly volatile, but which does he want more?"

Obie looked at him blankly. "You know, I never got the point of this book. It's like, just be satisfied with what you have for Christ's sake. You don't need the girl of your dreams _and_ a giant mansion _and_ a load of power."

"Answer my question."

"He wants the girl who lives by the green light. She doesn't seem too great anyways. Kinda dumb. And her husband's a prick." Obie made a circuit in the spinning desk chair again, and Archie made a mental note to tell him to sit somewhere else next time. If there was a next time. Of course there would be a next time. If Archie wanted a next time, there would be a next time.

"Ah, see, that's the thing, she isn't. Gatsby's standards become void when he sees this girl again. He forgets all about how how tasteless she really is because he loves her. He ignores how stupid and fickle she can be and only notices the good parts. Stupid of him, really."

"Yeah. I mean..." Obie trailed off.

"It's a bit like how I feel about you."

"You're obsessed with the American dream?!"

Archie rolled his eyes. "No, idiot. I'm ignoring the fact that you have the intelligence of a bar of soap and just about the same amount of class and instead looking at your redeeming qualities and choosing to spend my time on you."

Obie looked mildly offended. "Since when is your time so precious, huh? What makes you any better than me?" He pulled himself up lazily from the desk chair and strode over to Archie. "That's your problem. You actually think everybody gives a shit about your opinion. I'm going home, I think I know enough about Gatsby and his stupid house and his stupid girl." Obie slung his bag over his shoulders and started downstairs.

"Fine, see if I care. Do whatever you'd like, Obie. It's all about you." Archie straightened himself in his sitting position on his bed and began to laugh. Because Obie was kidding himself, Obie needed the help and wanted the friendship. Gullible kids like Obie were what middle school was all about. They were the kids who ended up either being beaten up or at the feet of smarter, more popular kids.

And that would most certainly be the case with Obie. Archie picked up the school directory from his desk and flipped through it a bit and scanned the names. People would tell you not to judge books by their covers, but you could just tell who was a dumb thug and who was a nerd from their names and addresses.

He smiled down at the book and moved into his father's office, where the phone was. This was going to work just fine. He punched in the number of the first boy he saw who would fit in the 'dumb thug' category. The tone was short and monotonous.

"Who's this?" The voice was rough and, as Archie had expected, sounded quite stupid.

"Do you know Obie Harrison?" Archie kept his sentences short and punctual. The stupid ones needed that.

"Yeah." The boy on the line appeared to be racking his brain. "Yeah, I know him. What about him?"

"I'd like you to beat him up on the way home. You do know where he lives, don't you?"

"What, why? And yeah, I know his house. We're on the basketball team together. But why d'you want me to beat him up? Kid do something to you?"

Archie snorted. "No, on the contrary. Just do it. You don't like him very much, is that right?" It was only a matter of time before the other boy thought to ask who the hell it was on the line, so thought that he the conversation should probably end quickly.

"He's alright, I guess."

"No, no. You hate Obie Harrison. Remember when he was given credit for shooting that basket that wouldn't have been possible without you?" Educated guessing. But it was common enough in basketball.

"Well, yeah...Okay, I'll beat him up, but what's in it for me?"

"There will be fifty dollars in your locker tomorrow." Archie smiled. "Now go do as you're told." He hung up quickly and then ran downstairs to go put on his coat. He was going to make Obie Harrison like him, and not just like him, but follow him around like a dog.

The rain had slowed to a drizzle for the most part, and Archie felt it safe to jog, because Obie was most likely halfway home by now and the boy whose name he hadn't even cared to remember was most likely a few steps behind him, judging by his address. He, as usual, ran all the red lights because no one was coming anyways, and accidentally-or perhaps not-tripped a few old women on his way.

Sure enough, about halfway to his house, Obie was being pummeled by a larger boy who looked more like he should have been on the football team than the basketball team. Beautiful. Just beautiful.

Archie broke into a run and before the football-player-turned-basketball-player could get in another punch, he hit him square in the jaw. Archie was no fighter by any standard, no matter how hard he hit he was still tiny and not particularly impressive, but the hit at least made the other boy stagger back. He realized that he did, in fact, recognize him.

"Alright, Carter, I'm going to count to four and if you aren't gone by then, I'll tell your family that you lost that game that you bragged to them that you won."

"How the hell are you gonna do that?!"

"I have my ways."

Carter looked irritated. "Fine, okay. I don't give a shit about Harrison anyways. Terrible player and probably a shitty person."

"That's the spirit. Now run along." Carter did as he was told.

Obie looked up at him somewhat pitifully. His basketball teammate had been dutiful enough to give him a bloody nose as well as a few bruises. "Oh, Obie," Archie said with mock compassion. With anyone else, he'd have to try a little harder, but Obie seemed to believe him with only a little bit of bad acting. "I had no idea you were this disliked by your peers."

"I-I'm not." He got up, wiping his nose on the sleeve of his sweatshirt. The green fabric was stained a maroon color after the action.

"Come here. I'll help." Obie staggered over to Archie, who wrapped an arm around his shoulders. The other boy was surprisingly bony, not muscular as he'd first expected. "I'll walk you home. Really terrible that someone would do that to you without provocation, isn't it? People are cruel, Obie."

Obie practically collapsed his weight on Archie's shoulder. "I don't even know that Carter. I mean, he's a ball-hog, but, other than that...fuck, my leg hurts."

"Don't talk. Your house isn't far, is it?"

"Nah. Thanks, actually. I mean, for punching Carter and threatening him and all. You're a bastard, but thanks anyways."

Beautiful.

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**i've forgotten how much i like this story **


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